Hey, Joe OH NO!
by Matrix Refugee
Summary: Bicentennial Man A.I., Artificial Intelligence. Galatea the girl android discovers the man, er, Mecha of her dreams, and just how he reacts to it. Very crazy, You Have Been Warned!
1. Default Chapter

+J.M.J.+

"Hey, Joe…Oh, NO!!"

A "Bicentennial Man"/"A.I." Crossover

By "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

The idea came to me as I was watching _Bicentennial Man_, which I saw after I'd seen "A.I." (which, to guess from the sheer number of fictions—mostly, like this one, Gigolo Joe fictions!—I've written based on it, is my all time favorite movie); as soon as Galatea the girl android showed up, and especially when she began to dance to the music playing from her own music centers, I wondered, "Hmm, where else have I seen something like this, only with better moves?" She's such a sex kitten for a metal-skinned robot that every time she was hanging all over Robin Williams's character, I expected her to try smooching him; so of course, I started wondering what kind of positronic fireworks would fly if she ever met the Other robot hottie (THE Robot Hottie, if you ask me [Thanks, Jude!]). I originally posted this idea as a simple message on Laurie E. Smith's "A.I." fanfiction message board on Yahoo!, and I was going to let someone else take it, since I have been "trying" to write some David fictions for a change; but at the urging of "trjessie", I have taken up my own challenge. TA DAAAAHHH! But please, no flames! I meant this in good fun.

**Special Note on Semantics**:

This story juggles the terminology of robotics, especially given the fact that I've combined two universes. "Robot" here means any artificial/mechanical humanoid in general. "Android" (or "droid"), a term used in _Bicentennial Man_, here refers specifically to a metal-skinned mechanical humanoid. "Mecha", a term used in "A.I.", refers explicitly to a silicon-based skinned mechanical human substitute which can easily be mistaken for a flesh and blood human ("Orga"). 

Disclaimer:

I do not own either _Bicentennial Man_, which is the property of Touchstone Pictures et al; nor do I own "A.I." which is the property of DreamWorks SKG, et al. I don't own the incidental song lyrics that appear, either. The only characters I own are Neve the Folksinger, Cecie Martin, and Dyckman. Also, I don't own the song lyrics that pop up here and there.

Chapter One

Rupert had brought some of Andrew's artificial organ designs up to the annual Roboticists' Convention and Trade Show in Albany. Of course many of the other designers and builders regarded the designs with mild curiosity and heavy skepticism. They'd already designed heartbeat and breathing simulators. And as for more personal organ simulators, Companionates and Cybertronics, the largest manufacturers of lover models had solved that difficulty a long time ago. But they didn't completely put down the designs; after all, an android had devised the designs, which made them worthy of note, or at least novelty. He'd expected that kind of response.

He'd brought Galatea along as his personal assistant, secretary and baggage carrier. Her data centers stored audio transcripts of the talks he'd attended and she could replay them word for word at a later time. Of course his friends in the industry who'd attended kidded him about "his girl". He'd rebuilt her to be female just to see if it could be done with a metal-body droid; he'd always been a little short in the hormonal department, even in high school, and he'd chosen to stay largely celibate to keep his mind and his hands free for his work. In college, he'd experimented with the crude early lover-Mechas, more to see how they performed than out of real lust; he hadn't been too impressed. They'd improved the design, but he had little interest in finding out for himself.

But after the conference, his old friend Dyckman prevailed upon him to come along with him to Rouge City, just over the Delaware, to see some of the newer models in action (or at least the trial vids).

"You should see the Sierra class models they brought in from Stockholm, whoa! You can barely tell they're really silicon and titanium underneath," Dyckman described as they drove up the road to Rouge City, through one of the viaducts shaped like a gigantic woman's head. "I bet your NDR model who did them designs would be interested—just for comparison, of course."

"Yeah, but they don't have organ simulacra."

"They got something like that, at least for…you know."

Rupert didn't think much of Rouge City: too crowded, too noisy, too much neon, too much sex. Everywhere you looked was some topless bar (or a bottomless one) or a peep show, or a XXX cinema or a cabaret.

Galatea followed them, carrying the bags as they headed for the Hotel Graceley, one of the few hotels that wasn't a hooker hotel. She'd never seen so many people together at once since her inception; then her positronic pathways logicked that most of them weren't really people: they were like her, except they had skin on them 

As they entered the Graceley, a tall, slender, dark male figure swaggered out. Rupert looked at it.

"Is that one of them Swedish models?" he asked Dyckman.

Dyckman glanced at the figure that swung down the street. "Nah, that's a domestic model, a Companionates' JO-4379. But it's a good quality model for a Class VII. Loads of personality."

Something crossed Galatea's field of vision; she turned her head to follow it.

Even from the back, he looked gorgeous, and he walked to a beat all his own: lithe, cool, groovy, almost dancing. Her grip on the suitcases loosened as she strained her distance vision to follow him, till he was lost in the crowd.

BUMP! One of them fell to the floor. Rupert turned around as the other one fell. Galatea had her head turned away.

"Galatea, pick up those bags, please?" he said.

She turned back letting out a sigh as she picked the bags up and followed Rupert and Dyckman up to the hotel room.

When they got there, Rupert gave Galatea her next orders. "Okay. Dyckman and I are going out, so I want you to unpack the bags and put our stuff away in the closet and the dressers, Dyckman's in one, mine in the other. Got it, Galatea?"

"Okay!" she chirped.

When they had gone, Galatea sighed for a different reason than before, and opened the first suitcase.

When she finished, she decided to go out. Rupert hadn't given her specific instructions to stay in the hotel room, so she wasn't breaking Second Law. Now she could go find out what that hottie looked like from the front.

Neve the Folksinger stood at her usual place near Main Plaza, between Tails and Mildred's flung-back fiberglass head, singing her heart out and strumming her six-string guitar, a ditty of her own composition patched together from snatches of old songs, like the coat on her tiny frame was made of mismatched swatches of cloth she'd stitched and polymered together.

She gleefully changed her tune as a familiar, tall dark, handsome thing approached, pretending to avert his green eyes.

"I fell in love with you

First time I looked into

Them there eyes.

You gotta certain little

Cute way of flirtin' with

Them there eyes.

They sparkle, they bubble

They're gonna land you

In a whole lotta trouble.

You're overworking 'em,

There's danger lurking in

Them there eyes!"

He pretended to walk by her, hands in pockets, arms akimbo, but he hopped backward several steps till he came up before her and the guitar case lying open on the polymer pavement before her.

He drew one hand out of his pocket and, with a grandly surreptitious gesture, dropped a couple five copper pieces into the case.

"Hey, Joe, whaddya know—about time you paid the damages," Neve snipped, continuing to play.

"What damages, may I ask, could I possibly have caused?" he calmly asked with an innocent smile.

"Distracting me while I'm playing, so I end up singing drivel like that. You walk by and all I can think of is sentimental junk like that."

"Perhaps you would do better business if you varied your repertory with such songs." He dropped another coin into the guitar case before he turned and swaggered away into the thick of the night crowd.

Two guys, a tall thin one and a shorter, heavier one, walked by, talking what sounded like technical talk about Mechas. _Must be designers,_ she thought. One of them, the shorter one, pulled a handful of loose change out of his pocket and dropped it into the case as they went by. A few other people, who'd paused to listen, added more contributions.

Then a tall, lean woman in a black trench coat and mirrorshades, topped off with a black fedora passed by in the footsteps of the designer guys. She stopped and jotted something on a pocket datascriber, then she reached into her pocket, extracted a few bills and put them in the case.

"Thanks," Neve said between chords. Then she looked closely at the woman. Oh, her.

Two men "talking shop" about Mechas. Is this genuine or just a scrim for what they're REALLY here for? (i.e. ooh, la! La!) No, the words they use are too big and techy sounding. Or are they real designers who are mixing pleasure and business? If so, they are doing themselves some harm by this kind of detachment. Sex with a Mecha is wrong, but are they making it worse by approaching it coldly and sterilely? C.S. Lewis contends we have to approach sex with joy, even playfulness, and I suppose this applies to those with fewer moral inhibitions. Gotta avoid relativism here…

Cecie Martin saved her notes and scanned the crowd on the plaza, looking for Joe.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Galatea set her recognition on high filter so she could block out anyone who didn't look like that hottie. She had a couple false matches at first, but then she spotted him in a crowd, dancing away from her to the music that clamored in her auditory censors.

He paused and approached a woman; in so doing he turned and she got a good look at his face.

She never could logic why Andrew was so interested in Portia; he said it was because he was attracted to her. She hadn't understood what exactly that meant, but now she knew. "Attractive" didn't start to describe this guy. Looking at his perfectly symmetrical face made her positronic circuits glow hot and bright inside her, pulsing with extra energy. She felt as if she were floating off the ground.

She tried to step forward toward him, but something gave way in her equilibrium motivator. She fell flat on her face with a resounding clank that echoed off the buildings.

"Hey, Joe, whaddya know—I haven't seen much of you lately," Cecie said to the tall dark figure in black who turned to her.

"One thing explains my absence: some conference of robot designers has taken place north in Albany, and many of them have come here for that which they could not sample at their gathering," Joe replied. Even the slight blankness that always lingered in his eyes couldn't hide the slight look of exhaustion there.

"So they've been putting you through your paces?" she asked.

"These experts are, I must admit, the most difficult class of Orga to satisfy."

"Not like the businesswomen come for a fling, or the lonely hearts looking for a cuddle."

"No, they ask only for passion, the experts demand precision."

She put both her hands on his shoulders and patted them. "Well, that's why I'm here; you don't have to be passionate or precise with me: just be what you are."

"And what am I to you?"

"You're my friend, my informer, my muse at times."

He'd started to lean in to kiss her cheek, but something went "clank!" nearby. They both looked around.

"What was that?" Cecie asked.

Joe's eyes swung over the crowd. "It was only a service droid falling over."

"Uh, oh, somebody need a new battery?"

"That would not cause so dramatic an effect."

"What would happen instead?"

He looked to the ground, his head slightly to on side; he looked at her. "I have never had this occur to me, but I have seen others of my kind suddenly stop short and cease to move entirely."

"I hope that never happens to you, fella," she said, smiling at him. He smiled back.

"Would that it never occurs," he said.

Two women in business suits with long skirts approached. One of them, the smaller one, pointed at Joe.

"Yes, here's the Companionates model I told you about. I think he's the prototype for this particular run," she said.

"Uh oh, experts," Cecie groaned.

Galatea picked herself up in time to see the hottie with the cool green eyes going off with two women.

"Hey, I was looking at him," she chirped, hands on hips. She decided to try and follow them.

The threesome went into a very strange looking hotel called the Keyhole, a black building with tiny keyhole-shaped windows outline in red neon. Even the door was shaped like a giant keyhole. She tried to go in, but a doorman held her back.

"You can't go in there, no service droids," he ordered.

She decided to wait outside, between two buildings.

Rupert and Dyckman got back to the hotel room about three in the morning. Rupert felt dog-tired, but he jolted awake when Galatea didn't come to the door.

"Where'd she go?" he cried.

"Maybe she just went out for a breath of fresh air," Dyckman said, a little tipsy. He plunked himself down on one of the twin beds.

"Very funny," Rupert said, heading out.

"Hey, where y'going this hour of the night?"

"To file a missing droid report."

"I'm sure she'll turn up on her own."

"I ain't taking chances in this crazy town."

About the same time, Joe got free of the two experts. The silver and black medallion pager around his neck kept going off, which was the only reason they finally let him go.

He sensed something slowing in his neurones, the fiber optic threads that carried the current and the impulses through his body. But that he could expect: the experts had demanded a lot from him. He headed for the next rendezvous with the next client, one of his regulars, a gentle older woman who had trouble sleeping and often needed to be held and soothed into sleep.

He didn't notice the silver and copper-colored figure that followed him.

Galatea followed HIM without stumbling this time. She wanted to say something to him, but so many words jammed into her voice synthesizer, that she knew she couldn't say them all at once, not without him laughing at her or simply staring at her in blank incomprehension.

He entered one of the apartment towers she had seen form the road. She tried to follow him but again, a doorman put her out on the sidewalk. She found a nook where she could watch the doors for him. She shut down some other centers to conserve her energy.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Just before daybreak, Joe left Hadassah asleep, and went out to the street. Early morning, the slowest time of the day had come. The streets lay largely silent now, except for a few revelers reeling the way back to their hotels, a few lover-Mechas like himself heading back to their keepers for inspection or looking for a corner in which to tend to self-maintenance, and the clean-up crews sweeping up the night's debris.

He found himself a nook in an alley behind a cabaret. He slipped off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeve and unsealed his elbow to check the components there.

Galatea almost missed the cute guy as the darkness gave way to light. But she saw something tall and dark pass by her. She aroused her sleeping functions and got up. She saw HIM disappear down a side street. She followed him at a distance, walking faster to keep up with him.

He turned a corner down an alleyway. She followed him.

She found him leaning one shoulder gracefully against the wall of a building, head bent, eyes intent on something at his arm.

Then something happened to his skin.

It _moved_; his skin _moved_. It opened at his elbow and uncovered what was beneath: fibers and servos and tiny pulleys and other metal components. From a compartment in his wrist, he selected a tool and adjusted something in his joint.

He was like her: he was a droid.

"Excuse me," she said, finding her voice.

The cute droid-guy looked up at her, right at her. His jade-colored eyes looked even nicer up close than from a distance.

"You were saying?" he said with a slight smile that made her feel so warm, she expected she'd melt into a puddle of aluminum.

"You're like me! You're a droid, too!"

He looked up and down; an ironic smile curled the corners of his sensuous mouth.

"No, you speak wrongly: You are a droid, I am Mecha."

"What's the difference? We're both made of metal, right?"

"That has its truth, but only to a point of departure: you are encased in sheet metal; I am encased in simulated flesh to resemble a human. You would barely pass a visual Turing test."

She was about to reach out and touch him when someone came up behind her and took her shoulder.

"Hey, get back to work," a gruff human voice said, not unkindly but inexorably. A clean up crew consisting mostly of droids had come down the side street. The human overseer took her by the arm and led her into the thick of the crew. He handed her a dustpan on a long handle and a broom and set her to work sweeping the little out of the gutter. She obeyed only because the inexorable voice of a human had commanded her.

Rupert couldn't get to sleep, thinking about Galatea. The security officials—Rouge City lacked a genuine police force, since the police union was too embarrassed to establish one, just as neither East Pennsylvania nor New Jersey wanted the town within its borders—had told him quite frankly, "This is one of the worst towns you could loose a droid in. It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

But he finally dozed off and woke around noon. The phone hadn't rung so she hadn't been found. Dyckman wanted to go out that afternoon, but Rupert decided to stay in the hotel room.

"Babysitting the phone, eh?" Dyckman twitted. "Your decision."

About an hour after Rupert started babysitting the phone, the crew boss had his back turned to Galatea. She snuck behind a tourist information kiosk and set down her broom and dustpan. She snuck away undetected.

At that moment, two security guards approached the clean up crew, looking to see if Galatea was among them.

Neve set up shop over on Concubine Street that day. She started her set with some headlines from yesterday's newspaper, (which she'd slept under the night before) set to the tune of an old hobo song from the distant 1960s.

A few people came by and dropped money into her guitar case. One guy, a short, dark, anything but handsome runt in an ill-fitting gray suit—jacket too small, pants too big—dropped a wad of Newbucks in with a teasing "you didn't see me do that" grin.

Joe usually cam by about this time, but she didn't see him. Instead, a metal-skinned robot shaped weirdly like a girl came by. She stopped in front of Neve as if she listened. What was she—it, whatever? Had she escaped from a clean-up crew?

"Hey, you know a tall, dark, handsome robot with green eyes and an English accent?" the girl 'bot asked in a high-pitched, chirpy voice.

"No, but I know a tall, dark, handsome Mecha who fits the description," Neve replied.

"Have you seen him come this way?"

"No."

"Thanks." The girl 'bot went away.

A moment later, Joe came swinging by, pretending not to notice Neve.

"Hey, Joe, whaddya know?" she called after him.

He pivoted on one heel and swaggered back to her. "You called for me by name?"

"Yeah, you know anything about a girl droid who's looking for you?"

He cocked his head, processing. "A metal housed droid roughly shaped like a woman tried to engage me in conversation early this morning."

"Well, keep an eye out for her; she just passed by, asking me if you'd been around."

"In which case, I shall maintain a vigilant watch for her."

"Aaaawww, you falling for one of your own kind, Joey?"

"No, I am not. I wish merely to avoid encountering her. We are of no use to each other."

"Hey, it might be different. Why not give it a try?"

"Even if she could receive my attentions, I do not give them gratis."

"Do it for yourself, Joe. She'll thank you for it."

At that point, a tiny woman in a tweed suit approached Joe, hesitated, then came right up to him.

"Is your name Joe?" she asked in a thin voice.

He turned to her graciously. In a gentler voice even than his normal tome, he said, "They call me that for short: Gigolo Joe, at your service."

_More to your liking, fiberhead! _she thought as they went off together. _But it probably wouldn't kill you to bring some fun into that metal-girl's dreary little existence. Make her feel real!_

And it would keep that Martin girl away from Joe.

Rupert brought a picture of Galatea to the street, asking people if they'd seen her. He kept running into Mechas, not much point in asking them. Besides, half of them were female Mechas who kept trying their charms on him.

Most people he approached shook their heads to his question. He walked along the boulevards, asking passersby of they'd seen this droid? Her name's Galatea; I need her back…

He came upon a folk singer on a street corner, playing a guitar and singing "American Pie" in a low, raw, but clear voice.

"Excuse me, have you seen this droid?" he asked her. Her name's Galatea; she's been missing here since last night."

The girl kept playing the accompaniment as she studied the picture. "Yeah, I saw her go by not to long ago."

"Which way?"

The girl pointed up one of the cross streets. "That way."

"Thanks." He took a few Newbucks out of his pocket and put them in her guitar case.

"Thanks."

Neve watched the thickset fellow with the big head and the short bristly black beard go on his way. In the wrong direction. _Go on, Galatea; go find Joe._

Galatea turned down a side street. She had to find that green-eyed robot hottie if she had to search every side street and alleyway in the city.

She passed by an alleyway; she turned around and went down it.

She heard sounds like smooching. In a doorway, she found two people sitting very close, pressed against each other, a small woman in fuzzy gray clothes…

And her green-eyed metal boy!

The small woman clung to him, her arms about his waist, drawing herself closer to him, their faces pressed together, smooching him.

Galatea went up to them. "Hey, Mr. Cute-Guy Droid, wouldn't you rather smooch someone like yourself?"

The small woman jumped up. She stared at Galatea, then looked at the cute-guy droid. "Oh my," she gasped. She ran from the alleyway.

The hottie stood up, looking down at Galatea with something like annoyance. Without a word, he strode away.

"Hey, come back here? Can't I have a smooch?" she called after him.

Rupert went back to the hotel in the late afternoon to see if anyone had called about Galatea. Dyckman had come back to change for the evening.

"Still after the chirping tin can?"

"That chirping tin can was one of my first rebuilds. She's useful, and she's got a lot of sentimental value."

"No offense, Rupe, but sentimentality in a roboticist is a sign of weakness. Think of Allen Hobby, for instance."

"Hey, I haven't got that worked up, I just like to keep the things that matter. If she doesn't turn up, yeah, I'm gonna be wicked p----d, but it's not like I had my arm cut off."

"Of course: you can just build another one like her."

"Sort of."

Once Dyckman had gone out, Rupert decided to try again.

He met a tall girl in a long black coat coming out of another room down the hallway. He went up to her with the picture and asked her if she'd seen this droid…?

She studied the picture, then looked up. "You know, I think I have. I was talking to a friend of mine when we both heard this loud clank nearby. It looked like she'd tripped on something, but she got up again."

"When was this?"

"Last night, I'm afraid."

"Okay, thanks just the same. Uh, my name's Rupert Burns."

"I'm Cecie Martin: I see we're neighbors, sort of."

"Well, maybe not much longer; I'm clearing out of here as soon as I find Galatea."

"If I spot her, I'll leave a message for you at the desk. Did you build her yourself? I can't say I've ever seen anything quite like her."

"She's actually just a plain old NDR 114, I just rebuilt her to make her look female and gave her a personality chip of my own design and programming."

They went their separate ways, she going out, he to check the desk for messages, _again_.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"So she appeared out of the blue like that?" Cecie said, sitting at a sidewalk table at the Café Boucher an hour later. Joe sat opposite to her, backward on a chair, his shapely thighs spread open.

"Yes, I have since spotted her several times throughout the day. It is as if she were drawn to me like a magnet," he replied.

"Well, everyone calls you a chick magnet." He smiled thinly in response to this. "But I guess now you're attracting a metal chick."

"As if I were a real magnet."

"There's something to be said for you if you're such a looker that even your own kind gets drawn to you."

"But it is not practical. I am of no use to her: she lacks the wherewithal with which to enjoy my endowments. She is not a real woman: she barely resembles something feminine. It is difficult for me to pursue her. I may as well make love to a tin wastebasket."

"Well, next to you that's what she looks like. Have you tried blowing her off?"

"No. I do not know how. I have never needed to blow anyone off before this time."

"Well, I'll show you how." She called for her bill and paid it. "C'mon, we're going for a walk."

She lead him down Main Boulevard, which bisected the city, till they came to another small plaza.

"There's this one Mecha who keeps pesting me something awful every time I walk down this way. I want you to follow me at a distance. Don't try to intervene when he comes along; just listen to what I say and watch how I handle him."

"That I can do."

She walked a little way ahead of him and stopped, pretending to check her pendent watch and clean her glasses.

At length a male Mecha with medium blond hair, clad in a pelvis-length gray jacket approached her. If he had been a flesh and blood human, he might have been about eighteen years old.

"Aw, I see you've come my way. Want it rough for a change?" he said.

"Beat it, Alex."

He sidled closer to her, fists in pockets, chest flung out, head back; he stood slightly shorter than her. "Oh, we're even gonna talk rough, eh? Had enough of that pretty boy you been foolin' with all this time?"

"I haven't even come close, but I've had enough of you since you showed up," she said this with cold disdain, not even looking at him. He strutted into her line of sight, but she acted as if he hadn't passed by.

"Something wrong with your eyes? I'm as much of a sight for sore eyes as that prissy dude."

"I wish there were something wrong with them so I didn't have to look at you. Now beat it!"

He tapped his foot impatiently. "C'mon, yes or no?"

"No. Now go away!"

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the blunt one."

"What part of 'no' didn't you understand?" she said this in an icy drawl

"Well, you just missed out. You came to the wrong town if yer gonna keep yourself clean. Or you saving yourself for Joe?"

"None of your danged business. Now get! I mean it, Alex!"

He shrugged. "Suit yerself, Ms. Frigid." He swaggered away with his nose in the air.

Cecie went back to Joe. "Did that give you any ideas?"

"Perhaps I can modify your actions and mannerisms and speech patterns to suit my circumstances. You chose well you words."

"I've done it before. I know the drill. Except for you, I haven't met a more persistent Mecha."

"But you welcome my persistence."

"To a point, and only because you're more genteel about it."

"You are wisely discriminate in your tastes."

"I have to be, to keep to my principles." She glanced over his shoulder. "And you might want to put into practice the principles I just demonstrated."

He turned and followed her gaze. That girl droid came up behind them, swiveling her head.

Cecie didn't want to miss out on the fun, but she had to call the hotel and leave a message for Rupert.

Galatea had her visual filter set on high again, which greyscaled out everyone who didn't match the profiles in her database.

A dark mass of color—sheening black and silver—moved across her line of vision and resolved into the droid of her "dreams".

"You give her hell, Joe," a woman talking to him said, walking away. At least Galatea wouldn't have to deal with _her_ now.

She approached the handsome fella with what she hoped was a sexy walk. His eyes scanned her up and down, but an odd smile showed on his swarthy face.

"Hey, is your name Joe?" she asked.

"They call me that for short—but I rather you did not call me anything."

"Ooooh! Playing hard to get? Girls do that, not guys."

"They play hard to get when they do not wish to be gotten by the likes of you."

"Hey, you got a short in your wiring somewhere? Aren't you the kinda droid that's supposed to be sweet on girls?"

"I am, but something is not quite right within me. You may have something to do with it."

"Aw, don't get all cold on me, Joey-boy. Don't you want to find out what your own kind is like?"

"If I wished to find out what my own kind is like, I would choose one of the silicon-skinned variety, not a metal-skinned droid like you."

"Why, what's wrong with me?"

"You are not capable of utilizing, much less enjoying the services I provide."

"I've seen you dancing. Y' wanna dance?" She slapped a switch on her thigh. An old song started to play.

"She's got it!

Yeah, baby, she's got it!

I'm your Venus,

I'm your fire,

At your desire."

She circled him with a few steps she thought looked slinky and sexy. He watched her with an odd stiff little smile that didn't look very friendly.

"Two can play at that game," he said. He jerked his head to his left.

Even older, more graceful music started to play from within him.

"The moon may be high,

But I can't see a thing in the sky—"

"Hey, no fair! I thought only I could do that!" Galatea cried.

He jerked his head again, switching off the music. "You thought wrongly, I regret to inform you." with that he started to walk away.

"Hey, get back here! I didn't get my smooch!" She went after him, matching his strides with hers and planted herself in front of him. He tried to step around him but she blocked him at every step.

"If you are trying to dance with me, I must refuse you this pleasure."

She leaned up to him and put her arms about his neck. "One smooch ain't gonna kill your battery, you know."

"Remove your arms from me."

"No! I don't take orders from other droids."

"Then neither do I, particularly because I am Mecha." He twisted out of her grasp. She grabbed him by the coattail. He shook her off as he started to walk away.

"Hey! No fair! You can't do that to me, lover-boy! You haven't given me my smooch!"

She followed him; he walked quicker. She tried to grab his arm as she caught up; he walked even faster, almost running.

She got ahead of him and grabbed him by the face. "I want my smooch!" She pulled his face to hers and tried to press her auditory slit to his mouth.

He pulled away so suddenly she fell to the pavement.

"Hey!" she squeaked, getting up. "Get your cute metal rear back here! If you're gonna play rough, you gotta give me a smooch first!" She ran after him.

 "Oh, no!" he cried.

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

"So she appeared out of the blue like that?" Cecie said, sitting at a sidewalk table at the Café Boucher an hour later. Joe sat opposite to her, backward on a chair, his shapely thighs spread open.

"Yes, I have since spotted her several times throughout the day. It is as if she were drawn to me like a magnet," he replied.

"Well, everyone calls you a chick magnet." He smiled thinly in response to this. "But I guess now you're attracting a metal chick."

"As if I were a real magnet."

"There's something to be said for you if you're such a looker that even your own kind gets drawn to you."

"But it is not practical. I am of no use to her: she lacks the wherewithal with which to enjoy my endowments. She is not a real woman: she barely resembles something feminine. It is difficult for me to pursue her. I may as well make love to a tin wastebasket."

"Well, next to you that's what she looks like. Have you tried blowing her off?"

"No. I do not know how. I have never needed to blow anyone off before this time."

"Well, I'll show you how." She called for her bill and paid it. "C'mon, we're going for a walk."

She lead him down Main Boulevard, which bisected the city, till they came to another small plaza.

"There's this one Mecha who keeps pesting me something awful every time I walk down this way. I want you to follow me at a distance. Don't try to intervene when he comes along; just listen to what I say and watch how I handle him."

"That I can do."

She walked a little way ahead of him and stopped, pretending to check her pendent watch and clean her glasses.

At length a male Mecha with medium blond hair, clad in a pelvis-length gray jacket approached her. If he had been a flesh and blood human, he might have been about eighteen years old.

"Aw, I see you've come my way. Want it rough for a change?" he said.

"Beat it, Alex."

He sidled closer to her, fists in pockets, chest flung out, head back; he stood slightly shorter than her. "Oh, we're even gonna talk rough, eh? Had enough of that pretty boy you been foolin' with all this time?"

"I haven't even come close, but I've had enough of you since you showed up," she said this with cold disdain, not even looking at him. He strutted into her line of sight, but she acted as if he hadn't passed by.

"Something wrong with your eyes? I'm as much of a sight for sore eyes as that prissy dude."

"I wish there were something wrong with them so I didn't have to look at you. Now beat it!"

He tapped his foot impatiently. "C'mon, yes or no?"

"No. Now go away!"

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the blunt one."

"What part of 'no' didn't you understand?" she said this in an icy drawl

"Well, you just missed out. You came to the wrong town if yer gonna keep yourself clean. Or you saving yourself for Joe?"

"None of your danged business. Now get! I mean it, Alex!"

He shrugged. "Suit yerself, Ms. Frigid." He swaggered away with his nose in the air.

Cecie went back to Joe. "Did that give you any ideas?"

"Perhaps I can modify your actions and mannerisms and speech patterns to suit my circumstances. You chose well you words."

"I've done it before. I know the drill. Except for you, I haven't met a more persistent Mecha."

"But you welcome my persistence."

"To a point, and only because you're more genteel about it."

"You are wisely discriminate in your tastes."

"I have to be, to keep to my principles." She glanced over his shoulder. "And you might want to put into practice the principles I just demonstrated."

He turned and followed her gaze. That girl droid came up behind them, swiveling her head.

Cecie didn't want to miss out on the fun, but she had to call the hotel and leave a message for Rupert.

Galatea had her visual filter set on high again, which greyscaled out everyone who didn't match the profiles in her database.

A dark mass of color—sheening black and silver—moved across her line of vision and resolved into the droid of her "dreams".

"You give her hell, Joe," a woman talking to him said, walking away. At least Galatea wouldn't have to deal with _her_ now.

She approached the handsome fella with what she hoped was a sexy walk. His eyes scanned her up and down, but an odd smile showed on his swarthy face.

"Hey, is your name Joe?" she asked.

"They call me that for short—but I rather you did not call me anything."

"Ooooh! Playing hard to get? Girls do that, not guys."

"They play hard to get when they do not wish to be gotten by the likes of you."

"Hey, you got a short in your wiring somewhere? Aren't you the kinda droid that's supposed to be sweet on girls?"

"I am, but something is not quite right within me. You may have something to do with it."

"Aw, don't get all cold on me, Joey-boy. Don't you want to find out what your own kind is like?"

"If I wished to find out what my own kind is like, I would choose one of the silicon-skinned variety, not a metal-skinned droid like you."

"Why, what's wrong with me?"

"You are not capable of utilizing, much less enjoying the services I provide."

"I've seen you dancing. Y' wanna dance?" She slapped a switch on her thigh. An old song started to play.

"She's got it!

Yeah, baby, she's got it!

I'm your Venus,

I'm your fire,

At your desire."

She circled him with a few steps she thought looked slinky and sexy. He watched her with an odd stiff little smile that didn't look very friendly.

"Two can play at that game," he said. He jerked his head to his left.

Even older, more graceful music started to play from within him.

"The moon may be high,

But I can't see a thing in the sky—"

"Hey, no fair! I thought only I could do that!" Galatea cried.

He jerked his head again, switching off the music. "You thought wrongly, I regret to inform you." with that he started to walk away.

"Hey, get back here! I didn't get my smooch!" She went after him, matching his strides with hers and planted herself in front of him. He tried to step around him but she blocked him at every step.

"If you are trying to dance with me, I must refuse you this pleasure."

She leaned up to him and put her arms about his neck. "One smooch ain't gonna kill your battery, you know."

"Remove your arms from me."

"No! I don't take orders from other droids."

"Then neither do I, particularly because I am Mecha." He twisted out of her grasp. She grabbed him by the coattail. He shook her off as he started to walk away.

"Hey! No fair! You can't do that to me, lover-boy! You haven't given me my smooch!"

She followed him; he walked quicker. She tried to grab his arm as she caught up; he walked even faster, almost running.

She got ahead of him and grabbed him by the face. "I want my smooch!" She pulled his face to hers and tried to press her auditory slit to his mouth.

He pulled away so suddenly she fell to the pavement.

"Hey!" she squeaked, getting up. "Get your cute metal rear back here! If you're gonna play rough, you gotta give me a smooch first!" She ran after him.

 "Oh, no!" he cried.

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"What the heck happened?!" Dyckman cried as Rupert carried Galatea through the door of the hotel room.

"Oh, she was hitting on some man-whore Mecha in an alleyway," Rupert said, laying out the parts on the floor.

"Hitting on a Mecha? Golly, what else is she capable of?" Dyckman said. "Did he do that to her?"

"No, these two girls were trying to shake her off him, but she wouldn't budge till they knocked her down.

Rupert got Galatea functional by morning. She limped slightly and she wasn't as chirpy as usual, but she might need a few adjustments.

They checked out late next morning. As they went out, a dark, sprightly figure entered. His green eyes avoiding Galatea's face, he headed for the stairs almost at a run. Galatea, carrying the bags, paused to watch him pass by.

"Galatea, bring the bags out here," Rupert ordered.

"Yes, sir, master, sir," she muttered

Back in his workshop in San Francisco two weeks later, Rupert called to Galatea a third time to bring him the other batch of skin substitute in cold storage. Andrew, who was having his leg enfleshed—for lack of a better word—looked up through the open doorway Rupert had hollered through.

"Is she malfunctioning?" he asked.

Rupert shrugged. "I guess you'd call it that. She went nuts over some good-looking lover Mecha when Dykman and stopped over in Rouge City."

"And did this lover Mecha love her in return?"

"Nope, his kind ain't optimized for the kind of stuff you were built for."

"Why not, if he is a lover?"

Rupert hesitated. "Well, you know what a prostitute is, right?"

"Yes, a prostitute is a person engaged in the industry of selling her or his sexual favors to those seeking them."

"Let's say this Mecha was built specific for just that."

Andrew blinked, something he had never been able to do until he had received his facial skin. "It is good then that you got her away from him."

"Yeah, but try telling her that." He went to the doorway. "GAL-A-TE-A!!!" he bellowed.

Galatea came to the doorway, her head tilted dejectedly. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Get me the skin substitute _now_!" Rupert ordered.

"Yeah," she mumbled and glumped away.

She came back a minute later, carrying the plastic container containing a shapeless blob of skin substitute. She plunked the container down on the worktable and loped back to her nook.

"Perhaps this event is not so useless or troublesome," Andrew said as Rupert started molding the skin over his artificial veins and nerves."

"How's that?"

"She is not striking at me so much."

Rupert's bushy brows knotted. "Uh, striking at you?"

"Striking at me, the colloquial term for soliciting my attentions."

"Ohh, you mean hitting on you. Y'know, there's something to be said for that. Must be a relief for you."

"You can call it that." 

Galatea leaned her elbows on a worktable in the back room and sighed. Rupert was doing a good job on Andrew, but the way he molded that skin substitute, she knew he'd never look as good as Joe.

No robot looked as good as Joe.

She sighed again and slapped the switch on her thigh.

"Are the stars out tonight?"

I don't know if it's cloudy or bright,

'Cause they all disappear from view,

And I only have eyes for you."

Afterword:

I hope this wasn't too lame for everybody, and that it was an effective bridge between two movies with similar themes and similar creatures; and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed dreaming it up and writing it. I meant it all in good fun.

Literary Easter Eggs:

Café Boucher—The name Boucher is a tribute to classic SF writer Anthony Boucher, who wrote the story "The Quest for St. Aquin", about a robot who discovers God.

Alex—I didn't expect this character to show up, and I may use him again in another story. In some ways, he seems to have been inspired from another Alex, the sociopath "hero" of Anthony Burgess's _A Clockwork Orange_, which Stanley Kubrick, the mastermind of "A.I.", also made into a movie. There's a trivia bit that Kubrick had intended Joe to be more like the antihero of his previous effort, so in some ways my Alex may be a shadow of what could have been.

""I'm your Venus…"—I know, I took a mild departure from _Bicentennial Man_, but I heard these words from Shocking Blue's "Venus" on the radio as I was drafting this, so I decided to throw this in (I imagine Galatea, like Joe, has several soundfiles in her music centers besides "Respect")…and then they played Aretha Franklin's "Respect"!

"Come on, Joe, don't do this to us."—I have to tell this story: Shortly after I saw "A.I." for the first time, I had a vocational evaluation in which I worked a few days at a small department store, where they had me doing markdowns using one of two small hand-held scanners attached to briefcase-sized computers. One was mounted on top of a shopping cart, while the other was mounted on a rather elegant tripod on wheels. I have a habit of naming things ("It's just what I do."), so the one on the shopping cart I named Emma (I don't know why I chose that name); the one on the tripod I called Joe (for obvious reasons…). "Emma" was the more docile scanner, but "Joe" liked to beep at me for no reason at all, especially when I was marking down lingerie and bathing suits (Its way of saying "Ooh, la la!"? Maybe I chose the right name…or the wrong name), so I used to scold it: "Come on, Joe, cut that out/don't do this to me/quit that!"

Joe spazzing—Based this on the death scene of Pris the prostitute replicant played by Daryl Hannah in _Bladerunner_, and a similar reaction from a malfunctioning leg robot at MIT's robotics lab.


End file.
